


The Misters Fell

by Sodium_Azide



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Bakery, Established Relationship, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, M/M, Married Couple, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24426973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sodium_Azide/pseuds/Sodium_Azide
Summary: Fanfic of a Fanfic. Occurs some years after the events of the first story, within the universe of INNW (linked in the Notes) by IneffableFool.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 144





	The Misters Fell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ineffablefool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/gifts).
  * Inspired by [If Not Now, When](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936816) by [ineffablefool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool). 



They were back again. 

Whitney had a pretty good memory for faces, working in food service, even if a few did slip through the cracks. Tadfield was pretty small, but they still got enough tourists in the nice months. This older couple, though. 

Always at the holidays, of course, like a lot of out-of-towners, but visiting often enough throughout the year that it was worth committing their favorites to long-term memory. 

Always with the tall one opening the bakery’s door for his round companion, with an inaudibly low little verbal exchange every time. A gentle blush and downward glance for him, and an insufferably smug grin on the skinny chap as he stubbornly held the door wide. Those long limbs had to be good for something, because he walked like a ship listing to starboard and would at any moment be wrecked on the soft khaki boulder of his steadier partner. 

Speaking of.

“Good afternoon, dear girl. It’s lovely to see you again. Are you well?” His soft face was always so wonderfully sincere. Somewhat posh accent aside, his lovely eyes and kindness reminded her so much of her hazy memories of her grandfather and his warm lap, she always vaguely felt like she should be hugging him. 

She beamed back at him. She couldn’t help it. “I really am, Mr. Fell. The owner gave me more hours, so I’m saving up. You were right about asking him. But that means that you’re going to have to get through me if you want the tiramisu-it’s just me here today.”

“And our desserts will be all the sweeter for it.” He smiled at her, eyes crinkling cheerfully. 

The other Mr. Fell was assessing the options in the glass case. Best of luck to him indoors with those sunglasses-she fed people compulsively, which was partially due to her own nature and partially to working in a bakery for years-but it was tough to assess his tastes, because he would just always-

“We’ll get whatever you want, Angel. What about this one, with the swirly bits? I dunno. You choose.” He shrugged. Whitney was going to get him to pick for himself today if it killed her. Compromise was all well and good, but really. Well, time to bring out the big guns. It had been long enough that she knew what worked. She strolled over and deployed The Weapon. “Do you have anything in mind, Mr. Fell?” she asked sweetly. 

He didn’t seem to hear for a moment, then froze, reddened, and began to stutter. Worked every time. “What looks good to you, Mr. Fell? Maybe a sample? I know your husbands’ tastes, but what are you having, Mr. Fell?”

Still red, he pointed at her, although his helpless grin ruined any possible sternness. “Oi. Dirty pool.” 

“I am just trying to be of service, Mr. Fell.” she smiled placidly as ‘Angel’ wrapped a wide arm easily around his partner’s waist and tucked him into his side. “Dearest, at some point will that title cease to discombobulate you?” An embarrassed subvocal mumble into Mr. Fell’s fluffy curls was the only response. 

Whitney crossed her arms unrepentantly. “There is no line behind you. I’m not in a rush, and I’m pretty sure that your husband will back me up on this. I will feed you a sample of everything edible in this building if I have to.”

Even in a small town, this wasn’t her usual customer service, but she and the portly Mr. Fell had been amiably teasing the redhead in tandem for years now. Also, she was standing between them and the best buttercream in Tadfield. She knew her power. 

Still pressed into his husbands’ wide form, the lanky bloke glanced between Whitney and his husband, his blush fading a bit. Even partially hidden by his shades, his expression visibly softened as he looked down, like he couldn’t believe his luck. He pressed a kiss into blonde curls like he was getting away with something, then straightened up and turned to her with a painfully transparent attempt at aloofness. “Yeah, so, yeah. His tiramisu, and ah, a bit of the swirly marble cake thing for me. And whatever you think we’ll like for later, so, yeah. Thanks.” 

She was so proud of him. Whitney boxed up their selections, plus a vanilla bean mille feuille for later, because she had taste, thank you. Like their last visit, and the one before, the Misters Fell leaned close together, murmuring gently to each other and smiling like nothing but the other was worth looking at ever again. 

It was hugely inappropriate, so she would never say anything to them, but watching the Misters Fell had helped. It was hard to find someone in a small town, but she had relaxed a lot about it. She would save up, maybe travel a bit. School, of course. The redhead clearly knew what he had got, and the other Mr. Fell was happier than she had ever seen before his marriage. Yeah, it was probably aiming a bit high, but she wanted that. She could wait. 

Payment. A rather generous addition to the tip jar, which was not entirely unexpected but still sweet. As always, the taller Mr. Fell nabbed the bakery box and carried it carefully. As always, he held the door for his soft, round husband like it was a privilege to do so. And clearly, it was.


End file.
